


I'll See You by the Russian River

by easternfront



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easternfront/pseuds/easternfront
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cut he'd made to it after getting it from set destined for a underground game club in Johannesburg. A small incision only he knew existed. That little nic was his little secret, his alone. He wasn't the only one to know that the dice would land on sixes if you threw it from one, or that any other side would land it on a one. The man who had made his totem knew, but that little addition was his.</p><p>A story where Arthur talks a lot and Eames tries to keep tabs on Arthur, successfully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll See You by the Russian River

He wasn't expecting the slap. Flat palm landing against his cheek, swift, efficient and strong. A viper's strike.

"No! You are not real! Mal's eyes were watering. She turned her head towards Dom: "You are not doing this, how dare you?"

He could see Dom taking a step towards them. Dom the man who thought he was in control but never truly was. He was watching at his wife with a look that was a combination of anger and sadness. Like a man who no longer recognized the woman that had just hit her best friend with full force.

 

The situation had escalated after Arthur had expressed his concern for Mal’s constant referral of getting home soon. He’d merely mentioned with a laughter in his voice that Mal should be able to tell by now, after all her experiences in dream sharing, that she was already at home. He hadn’t realized that Mal was no where near fine, or only in need of a small reality check from a friend as Dom had expressed in his latest phonecall. He’d sounded casual but firm in his belief that Mal needed a friend, someone else than her husband right now.

 

Arthur pulled back and raised his hands: "OK, OK...Mal, please just listen to me." His mind was racing. It was terrible to see that Mal was no longer that woman he’d spent all those months building worlds and lives with.

Mal had always had that rage bubbling just under the surface but never in real world had she allowed it to boil over. She’d shrug her shoulders or tisk at people for behaving badly, but never acted aggressive or hostile. Between her clenched teeth she was growling: "Why? Why should I? I have to,  we have to go home Dom."

"I need to make sure you are going to be alright? We both need to know..."

 

"No,no. NO!"

She moved quickly to the kitchen counter and pulled out a chef’s knife. Her movements were erratic. She held the knife in front of her and yelled: “You are not here. Get away from me!” Arthur stepped further away: "Mal, please put it down." He saw how adrenaline was making his own hands shake. Slight tremor ran through his spine. He didn't want to end up disarming Mal and wasn’t sure if he even could do that with her being on such alerted state.

 

He didn't want to hurt her: "Mal, please focus for me. We were going to go and see the Redwoods with Phil next month. Remember? Mal? You, me and Philippa. She's talked about those trees as long as she's been able to talk." 

 

"Get out of this house! Get out. You are in London." She was taking deep breaths as if to calm herself down. She was looking outside of the window at her mother and her kids playing in the backyard. She mumbled something inaudibly and laid the knife to the sink. Stretching her fingers and pulling on her stained t-shirt she walked in front of Arthur, physically crowded him against the dinner table: "You are not Arthur. Get out of this house."

 

Her breathing had now become steady and calm. She raised her hand to rest on his reddening cheek. "My Arthur would never lie to me like this, so cruel and mean. Phil loves you and I will see you and her  very soon ."

 

Mal smiled faintly and held his hand: “I knew my memories of you are perfect and clear, not slightly out of place.” She ran her other hand along his hair and left it resting on his neck with her thumb pressing behind his ear. “All those hours together in training, remember Arthur? Do you really?” He did remember. Just her and him together in Algiers trying to teach Arthur the proper pronunciation of french, eating in Shanghai with the weirdest imaginable combinations of foods and that little quaint English village they’d created out of shared memories of reading Famous Five’s.

 

She pulled her arms to her side and looked right past Arthur into Dom: “Are you mine or Dom’s?” With that she turned and walked over to the fridge: "I need to make dinner, the kids will be hungry soon. Dom see Arthur to the door." As she was beginning to wash the colourful peppers, Dom stumbled across the hallway towards the front door. Mal turned to her husband: "Don't block my car again. I'll see a doctor tomorrow." Arthur could physically see how Dom straightened up and smiled at his wife. "That is great news. Great news Mal. Arthur?"

 

Dom's hand felt heavy on his back as they walked towards his car. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see her like that. We'll get over this...she will get over this and her being ready to see a doctor is a step to right direction. Thank you for coming all the way from London."

"Where's her totem?"

Dom closed his eyes and turned his head towards the sun: "She doesn't have one anymore, she says she doesn't need one, who am I to argue otherwise?"

 

Arthur's fingers were squeezing the dice in his pocket. He could feel the jagged edges on the middle third bump on the three, as well as the cut corner on the side of the sixes. A cut he'd made to it after getting it from set destined for a underground game club in Johannesburg. A small incision only he knew existed. That little nic was his little secret, his alone. He wasn't the only one to know that the dice would land on sixes if you threw it from one, or that any other side would land it on a one. The man who had made his totem knew, but that little addition was his. 

 

"If I find it was your stupid idea for her to give up her totem I..."

"She locked it away herself. She doesn't need one. She will get better. I promise." Dom nodded to himself. “I cannot work for awhile now, make sure all the deals have successfully been transferred. I have to make sure she’s going to be alright. You'll get to go with them to your little camping trip. Right after we come back from New York.” Dom gave an awkward tap on his shoulder and meandered back to the house. He stopped just before the front door and looked down at his feet. The man was building courage to go back inside his own home.

 

Arthur sat in his car at the Cobb driveway for a long time. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t drive off the road at the first hard turn at that canyon because he was shaking so much. He didn’t even have his old cigarettes to calm his pulse down.

 

 

* * *

 

Since the Mr. Charles job he had struggled himself. A whole month of not quite getting back to his tracks. He understood that look of Mal’s. The utter despair of no one getting her, no one seeing what she saw. That month of working and spending too long for the job in the second dream level had been his breaking point, he’d forgotten the combination for his gun safe and the pin code for his credit card.

 

It had taken him all his efforts to find his own bag from the luggage carousel and after that he had just sat in an airport lounge and wondered why he couldn’t remember how to book a flight anymore. He looked at his hands and legs and marveled that they were intact and unbroken. His eyes were fine and and the sensation of blood trickling down his throat wasn’t really there anymore. But he still saw the chaos if he shut his eyes. After opening them he was sure there was another machete right behind his head, ready to swing and cut his neck.

 

In the middle of the busy terminal at the Hartsfield airport in Atlanta he had just stared outside the planes taking off and landing until sun had set and a security guard had approached him with an inquisitive look. He’d taken out his phone while explaining he’d had to change his flight schedules because of business meetings. His crumpled suit didn’t argue otherwise. The truth was he had already missed his originally intended flight to New York and had no real reasons to stay in Atlanta either. He’d opened his address book on his phone and scrolled it down with unfocused mind only to stop to a contact named: Time To Call This Number Love.

 

The flight to Johannesburg had been a nightmare. He couldn’t sleep, every clink of glassware, cough or a sniffle made him jump. A flight attendant accidentally  touching his shoulder when looking for leverage for balancing coffee to the man next to him had almost had him punching her. Customs line had been too long and the family father talking to phone about his broken ass Land Rover with the loudest voice had his migraine finally flare up. The taxi driver had charged obscene amount that most certainly wasn’t with the regulation but had gotten him standing in front of a large concrete block pressing the intercom with full force. Three short, one short, one long...over and over again. South Africa, South Africa.

 

“Open up you fuckwit.”

“I will if you move out of the way darling.”

He tried slapping but his movements were too slow, his wrist was caught in a tight grip: “That is not the way to greet a stranger.”

His eyes were burning because of the bright sun despite the sunglasses and he could feel his shirt was soaked in sweat.

“Just let me inside, now.”

 

Without a word they walked inside, to the elevators, rode it to the eighth floor and walked inside, what on surface, looked like a messy apartment. Newspapers left lying on the table, assorted DVD’s on top of the TV table and few pairs of shoes and flip flops littered around. Other than that the uncleanliness was surface. A closer inspection would have revealed no real connection to the person currently living inside the apartment. Just a bare set and a waiting lounge under temporary use. Arthur shed his luggage and jacket to the hallway floor, kicked his shoes under the side table and fell down to the sofa. He rested his head at the edge of the sofa’s back and pushed his sunglasses higher up his nose. He struggled to open his tie.

Man sat next to him and turned towards him: “Let me.” Hands were slow and determinate: “You shouldn’t do double knots like this, a single makes your neck look longer, more elegant. In fact you should not wear ties like this at all, take one of mine...”

“Just shut up.”

 

The cushions of the couch moved and suddenly Arthur was sitting on it alone. The silent hum of the airconditioning was the only thing audible. Without opening his eyes he still knew the man was right there standing next to him. He could smell the streets of Johannesburg and cigarettes on him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anymore.”

“Mhn.”

“I thought I could do without. You can.”

 

A small laughter filled the room: “No I can’t actually. That is why you are here with your lovely derriere…”

“Cut it out.”

“No I won’t.”

His sunglasses were pulled away: “Open your eyes.”

He did. The room was now darkened with all the blinds folded. He looked up:

“I don’t think I can...I’m off…”

“Not now.” Hands slowly started to unbutton his shirt: “Not now darling, this first.”

 

He woke up the next day after having slept for over twelve hours. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the bedroom. Morning radio was yelling it’s Good Mornings! from the kitchen followed by a South African pop anthem he didn’t know. A small glare of sunshine escaping from a missing blind sliced the room in half. There were nothing on the walls  and the only furnishings were the creaking bed and a small IKEA drawer stuffed into a corner. A bedroom of a man whose home was somewhere else.

 

Arthur walked over to the drawer and couldn’t resist the temptation on opening the drawers. All of them were empty, except the top one. It had several unopened decks of cards, some sort of acryl based plastic slabs and  several dice in a chocolate box. He was holding one when the door opened. Like a child he pulled his hand behind his back and leaned against wall looking at the open drawer: “So what’s all this?”

“Exactly what you see, some paper and plastic, for now. Here’s breakfast if you want. Coffee, toast and canned fruit, nothing else I’m afraid. I wasn’t expecting any guests you see.”

“Coffee’s good thanks.”

“Is you just dashingly standing there naked supposed to make me believe there’s nothing of mine in your hands?”

Arthur pushed the opened drawer shut with his hip: “Yes, exactly.”

“Come ‘ere then. Show me your hands. It’s not like you’ve got somewhere to hide it. Unless you are quick enough to shove it up your arse.”

“What are you doing with these? You aren’t seriously back at this are you?”

He walked to the bed and grabbed a coffee mug for himself.

 

“Might and might not. It’s a lot more fun than just watching people weeks on end.”

“But you’re not good at this, not at least so that it would see you off. It’ll get you offed more likely.”

“Give it back, they’re not ready. A bad batch.”

“A bad batch? Like a bad batch of cookies? Come on Eames!”

“Give it back!” A hand was held in front of him. They looked at each other. Eames retracted his hand: “On second thought, you said you needed one. Keep it. I’ll end up throwing rest of them away anyway.”

 

Arthur looked at the dice. “Keep it?”

“Yeah, it’s yours. Make it yours. I can’t remember what they feel like. I made them months ago.” Eames set the tray down on the floor and walked over to the drawer: “I do this, because it keeps me sane. Only here I can create a perfect chip that would pass the Monte Carlo Casino, only me. I’ve never forged paraphernalia, objects like this in dreams.” Eames looked down in the drawer. Arthur shuffled further up the bed and let his legs dangle around the edge like when he was a little boy. Eames was lifting the slabs up and turning them around in his hands. “I always thought I’d end up doing just this for the rest of my life, doing little cons around the world, robbing from the rich and giving it to the poor...me.” He chuckled: “Well I guess I’m still doing it, just on a bigger scale and mainly without the bullets.” He tossed the slab back and walked over to the bed: “I used to like tea as well, now it’s coffee all the way. People change Arthur it’s normal, especially in our line of work.”

 

“But I saw it Eames, I  saw myself looking at the future me like I wasn’t there. Not seeing an end. Like I was someone’s story, someone’s shade!”

 

Eames kept playing with the small coffee spoon he was holding, letting it travel between his fingers and palm. His voice came out frustrated and angry:

“So is this you telling me you can’t do this anymore or are you just tired?” 

“I don’t know! Who am I to say? I keep seeing and feeling machetes cutting my head off! What if I’m losing it? I couldn’t even kill myself anymore! I had a knife but I just sat there waiting for those guys to hack at me. I didn’t remember!”

 

Arthur was embarrassed. He watched at his hands, the coffee had spilled over and burned his thighs and stained the sheets.

“Hey, hey.” Eames pulled off his t-shirt and wiped down his legs and pressed it against the sheets. 

 

“I need a reference point. I need a home...I need something.” Arthur hadn’t realised he spoke out loud.

“Come here.” A big bear hug engulfed him. He’d never needed reassurance from anyone.

They sat there for a long time: Arthur hiding his face to Eames’s shoulder and Eames pretending not to notice the tears running along his chest.

“When was the last time you stopped? Just stayed still?” Eames whispered. “Can you do it for me now? Not play on anyone else’s rules?”

 

Eames let Arthur away from his grip: “You know, I’ve never even asked you where you’re from. I mean I know that you grew up somewhere  in the depths of Bible Belt but where are you really from?”

Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face upwards as if trying to make the remaining tears to stay in the eye sockets: “I don’t think that is important.”

“Of course it is. Where we come from is the essential part in defining who we really are. If we can’t define ourselves, we’re left with a mess and a shell that can easily be confused and filled with silly ideas.”

“You are giving me your bullshit again.”

“Maybe but you are listening because it makes sense.”

 

Arthur rested on the bed and crossed his hands: “Mom made us pray and thank god every night for the day that had been given to us. She said that me and my sister were pure gifts from god and that we should be thankful for having been allowed to be born and that if we lived a good life we would be saved when we finally went to rest in peace. We’d reborn and wake up in God’s Kingdom.”

Eames laid next to him as Arthur continued: “I never really understood what she meant with that at the time, but I do now. A devout woman having had us to repent her sins. Replacements for the ones she got rid of, ones that were created to fill a void.” 

 

Arthur turned to his side: “We ended up in a church, in the last job. A small wooden church, just like the one we went to when I was a kid. I kept waiting for mom to show up somewhere and order me to do my repentance for the person I’ve become. I have no idea why I planted that church in that level and the projections picked that up really quickly.”

 

Eames took a hold of his hand as Arthur continued: “I live through others don’t I? I cling to them to the point of embarrassment. I drove like a lunatic to the hospital when Mal had Phil. I was there before Dom and the nurses thought I was the father.” Arthur let out a strained laugh. “We never knew our dads.  I  stuck out like sore thumb in where we lived. My sister at least looked like mom.”

 

Eames pet Arthur’s hand: “Parents will always end up fucking their kid’s lives. Everyone has a story that proves it, even the ones that had a good childhood. They’ll remember that one moment, that one single thing that they carry always with them, a thing that changed everything. ‘Do as you’re told’,  ‘I thought you were better’ or in my case ‘Fix it’”

 

Arthur lifted his hand to rest on Eames’s cheek: “You want to know me?”

Eames smirked: “I don’t know. A man who even thinks he can do this job without a totem is quite a reckless man. Are you a such man?”

“Reckless? Of course, I  am sleeping with you now am I?”

Arthur swung his leg over Eames and straddled him: “I’m being incredibly reprehensible for doing this with you over and over again.” He placed the dice on Eames’s chest: “I think I’ll keep this...and this.” He moved his hand to grab Eames’s dick.

 

* * *

 

Arthur sat on a small grassy ledge formed by the river running next to it over the years. He looked at the murky water running past his dangling feet. He’d walked over to the river from the small cabin bare footed. His white legs were sticking out from a old pair of shorts that had white paint stains on them and the t-shirt he was wearing was the same one he’d slept with the night before. All his spare clothes were in a backpack left at home.

 

He’d gotten the call just after midnight. Dom just weeping into the phone: “Mal’s dead, Mal’s dead…”

 

He’d driven to the cabin, talked with the old lady renting them out and gotten keys the smallest one she had, almost dilapidated one, the only one that was available during the high season. He’d closed the blinds, turned off his phone and cocooned himself under the blankets and listened to the sounds on nothing. Nothing turned out to be a lot of noises: birds, branches, occasional rain showers rattling the tin roof or few planes flying over the area. Only his rumbling stomach had had him get up and dig the car for something to eat. 

 

An old power bar and a fizzled out Coke in his stomach he’d headed out for the river. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there. People had been passing him with hiking gear, swimsuits and in canoes paddling the river. His toes were getting cold and he could feel his calfs were going to cramp soon. He knew he’d had to surface soon. He could not just play hide and seek because no one was going to look for him.

 

The sun was setting when he pulled his legs from the river and stood up. His shorts had seeped water from the river and moisture from the ground and he was shivering the whole way back to the cabin. He was collecting firewood from the awning at the back of the cabin when he heard a car pull up in front. It was a new car, something whizzing that made no sound except the gravel noise coming from the tyres. He dropped the remaining firewood and charged to the front yard ready to tell anyone there to go to hell. 

 

His ankle almost twisted with the sudden stop at the corner of the cabin. Eames looked haggard. His beard was way overdue of trimming and his linen suit was a stained mess. He leaned against the car door and was lighting a cigarette. Without turning he spoke with a mild tone: “I shouldn’t smoke right? Not in here, in the cradle of nature? It’s just that the 27 hours it took me to get here, the extra effort to convince that nice old lady to tell me where you are and that I’m not in fact here to kill you, has made me tired and starving for my nicotine. It’s so quiet here. Bloody quiet.”

 

Eames turned and looked directly at Arthur: “So bloody quiet I can hear you breathing from that far.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure. I keep tabs on you too love. It’s not just you. You have upped your security in Pasadena. It took me over an hour to get in.”

Arthur ran towards him: “You have no right to do that!” He stopped right in front of Eames and looked at him directly in the eye. The way the man was slouching against the car made Arthur a couple of inches taller. He could feel he’d hurt his right sole on something sharp, he hissed and transferred his weight to the other foot. With instinct he grabbed the arm that was offered to him for balance. “Easy love, easy.”

 

He let Eames walk him back to the porch and seat him to the swing. “Let me see.” Eames sat to the floor and lifted Arthur’s foot to his lap. “Ah a thorn through the flesh, just a sec.” He felt a jab in his thigh and sharp pain at his feet; Eames had pinched him from his thigh. “I’ve always wanted to try that, canceling out the other pain. It didn’t work?”

“No.”

“Do you have disinfectant or vodka or something? Or socks perhaps, and shoes? Out here in the wilderness I’d say those are a marvelous ideas darling.”

“Mal has killed herself.”

 

Eames huffed and sat next to him: “I know darling.”

Arthur was crying: “She jumped.”

Eames sighed: “I know.”


End file.
